She had so many violets this year, that I received a lovely large bottle.
Once you sample it, you know that violets could never taste like anything else.
It's not the perfumey taste of violet pastilles (a pleasant enough flavor, though), but a wild flavor: sunshine and vitamin c and dirt and tenacity.
Add some sugar to that mix, and you have a syrup that is bold and confident, unnerving but pleasant.
It's not for the faint of heart, not because it tastes bad--it's great--but because it is so unabashedly wild. This is what Bacchus and his maidens might have poured over their yogurt.
I haven't felt brave enough for it this spring. It has sat in the back of the my fridge, patient and self-assured, waiting.
Last night, I made a pitcher of iced tea, and I sweetened it with the violet syrup.
This morning, I woke up feeling brave and daring and adventurous.
I want to explore with Quartermain or look for the source of the Nile with (my hero) Burton or fight alongside Inigo Montoya.
Maybe even go outside.
Good ol' spring tonic.